


Those Things You Do

by KitanaRiddle



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitanaRiddle/pseuds/KitanaRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Greg had barely entered the door of 221B Baker Street when Sherlock glanced over at him before smirking. The consultant was typing on John’s laptop and had spared Lestrade only a quick flicker of his eyes before he stated, “I see you’ve got a new boyfriend and you’re serious about him.”</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If only Sherlock knew that Greg's new boyfriend went by the name of Mycroft Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Things You Do

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed

Greg had barely entered the door of 221B Baker Street when Sherlock glanced over at him before smirking. The consultant was typing on John’s laptop and had spared Lestrade only a quick flicker of his eyes before he stated, “I see you’ve got a new boyfriend and you’re serious about him.”

John looked up from his chair, surprised at his flatmate’s statement, and gave Lestrade a questioning look, “Divorce went through then?”

“Come now John, it’s obvious that Lestrade’s divorce was finalized _months_ ago. Have you not noticed he stopped wearing that awful cologne his wife gave him, as well he removed their picture from his office?”

“Oi!” Greg squawked, “The cologne wasn’t that bad.”

Sherlock hummed, “It truly was. I’m glad your new companion has bought you a finer scent, although that particular brand costs over one hundred pounds. Not your usual type of partner, but then again your usual types cheat on you. It’s for the best you’ve changed your tastes.”

“SHERLOCK!” John scolded as Greg stormed out of the flat, cursing at the consulting detective.

* * *

Mycroft was already at the restaurant when Greg arrived. He felt out of place in his cheap, suit with its wrinkles from a long day of visiting crime scenes and filling out paperwork. Of course, he thought, Mycroft looked impeccable in his three piece suit and not a hair out of place. He pressed a quick kiss to the government official’s cheek when the man pulled out his chair.

“How was your day, Gregory?” Mycroft asked once he took back his own seat.

“It was busy. Why didn’t you tell me the cologne you bought me was over one hundred pounds?”

Greg watched his partner look down as he swallowed in guilt, “Ah you saw Sherlock today.”

Before the DI could respond, a waiter brought over a large glass of red wine as well as a plate of oysters. The food smelt impeccable, as it always does when Mycroft orders for the both of them, hence why Greg let the man get away with that controlling aspect. He gave the pecan salad in front of Mycroft a dirty look before he noticed the worried one on the owner’s face.

“You okay?”

Leaning forward and interlocking his fingers beneath his chin, Mycroft answered, “What should we tell Sherlock?”

With a sly grin Lestrade replied, “Let the genius detective figure it out on his own.”

* * *

A few weeks later Greg awoke to the faint ringing of his work phone. Rather than answer it, he burrowed further into the warm body spooned behind him and mumbled into the pillow. Mycroft’s arms tightened instinctively and Greg shivered when he felt the soft rub of chest hair against his back. He rolled onto his back, pulling Mycroft half on top of him, and began to suckle at the stubbled jaw in front of him. The other man sighed and began to roll his hips down, causing both men to grow semi-erect instantly.

“Mycroft,” Greg breathed as their lips were about to meet.

Before he could manage one swipe of his tongue in the other’s mouth, his personal cell phone began to ring.

“It must be important, Gregory.”

He grabbed Mycroft’s arse roughly and grinded against the other man until both were fully hard and leaking, “What could be more important than catching up with you after you’ve been away for two weeks?”

Greg thought he’d distracted Mycroft enough to drop the subject when his phone started beeping repeatedly and rapidly. With a frustrated groan, he grabbed the phone off the bedside table and watched as 21 texts in a row appeared on the screen.

“Your bloody brother is cock blocking me!”

Mycroft sniffed and moved off of Greg while complaining, “Any chance of intimacy between us has vanished by your use of my brother and _cock_ in the same sentence. Do hurry along to your case and perhaps I’ll allow you another chance at me tonight.”

The DI shoved lightly at the man until he gave away a chaste kiss, “Fine, fine. I’ll see you tonight, love.”

* * *

When Greg arrived, Sherlock was already standing outside the crime scene tape while in a yelling match with Anderson. Silently Greg slid beside John and ushered the man to the dead body, wondering how long it would take Sherlock to realize. Evidently the moment Greg touched John’s shoulder to steer the man, the consultant slinked out of nowhere and ripped the hand off of the doctor.

“Lestrade, I doubt your new lover would take kindly to you groping John,” he sneered.

“Groping?!” John cried at the same time as Greg.

“Obviously this man is possessive of you, judging by the bite marks just under your collar. And by the way he dresses you in those new, highly expensive shoes and buys you fancy, silk pants he must think of you as _his._ Any sign of you touching another man would be considered betrayal in his eyes.”

Greg scoffed, “I doubt he’d be jealous of John! No offense mate.”

“None taken, but Sherlock how could you possibly know about the type of _pants_ Greg is wearing?”

“It’s not apparent? His cheap suit clings to the fabric of his shorts in a way they didn’t when the shorts were of the same fabric. I assume your lover is aware of this and likes to see the outline of your… manhood more clearly. I’m sure your sex life peaks on the days you wear those pants,” Sherlock shuddered.

Letting out a bark of laughter, Greg answered, “He does get rather randy now that you mention it.”

“A demanding alpha male no doubt. Hopefully he’ll keep interest in dominating you and he won’t have to stray like your timid wife did.”

Instead of reacting with anger like John expected, Lestrade smirked, “He’s actually a pushy bottom.”

Sherlock gave Greg a strange look, “I’ve had enough talk about your unsavoury past times. I’m going to the body now.”

“Fine but three minutes Sherlock, that’s it!”

* * *

“You have an anniversary coming up but you are unsure what to get him. Maybe because you’ve never dated a man this seriously before, but more likely because he is the type that has everything they could ever want for. A display of submission is what most domineering men desire.”

Greg remembered the words Sherlock spoke the afternoon before, wondering how the man would react to the way his suggestion played out. His limbs were all locked to separate bedposts with thick leather cuffs, leaving him spread eagle for Mycroft to tease and torment. The younger man had already gotten Lestrade off twice and was now riding him with his head thrown back in pleasure. With two previous orgasms, Greg knew this last round would last a long time so he allowed himself to relax into the bonds and let his lover take control.  If only Sherlock knew…

* * *

Sherlock let out an undignified huff when he stormed into his brother’s house.  There were two wine glasses sitting by the sink with a few drops of red wine staining the bottom. The lack of lipstick trace on either cup suggested two men met last night, which would mean Mycroft had taken another paramour.  John was trailing behind, gazing up at the vaulted ceilings and expensive décor.

“We just broke into the British Government’s house, didn’t we?” he shook his head knowing full well the answer.

Anthea was perched at the breakfast nook with a tea tray in front of her. She had a small tablet in her hands and she was swiping through screens and typing faster than John could follow. Her eyes never moved as she spoke, “It’s fortunate I was here or the guards may have terminated you on sight.”

“Oh please, my brother would have promised them worlds of agony if they ever harmed me. Tea?” Sherlock, to John’s surprise, passed him a cup before marching up to a set of closed, wooden doors.  Sherlock rammed his shoulder against them until they flew open to expose Mycroft doing up the cufflinks on his shirt.

“Sherlock!” he scolded, sounding scandalized despite the fact that he looked composed as ever, “You’re supposed to be in France.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t see that as a farce so you could-“ Sherlock stopped as Greg walked out of the on-suite bathroom with Mycroft’s bathrobe loosely draped on his shoulders, “What are you doing here?!”

The DI crossed his arms, unknowingly giving Sherlock an eyeful of fresh bite marks on his chest. John was holding his tea cup half to his mouth as he pieced together the obvious. The room was heavy with tension when Sherlock spoke again, “I’m waiting for an explanation, Lestrade; why are you here?”

Mycroft resisted the notion to roll his eyes and instead smirked and responded, “It has to do with sex.”

He didn’t bother holding back his chuckle at the stunned looks on Dr. Watson and his younger brother’s faces.

“John, you might want to put that cup back in its saucer now,” Sherlock grumbled as he spun on his heel and stormed out, his coat fluttering behind him.

John still sat with the cup resting against his bottom lip before he dropped it clumsily into the saucer and blushed, his cheeks a vibrant pink, “Um…  Congratulations Greg and uh… Mycroft.”

When the doctor left Mycroft’s apartment, closing the door behind him, Greg and Anthea burst into laughter while the owner of the house huffed. However, the quick kiss he placed on his lover’s cheek revealed he was less exasperated than he let on.

* * *

Trying to work with Sherlock after that became even more of a nightmare for Greg.   Each time he’d arrive at Sherlock’s apartment, the consultant would scoff and give some scathing remark about his relationship with Mycroft. John was always giving him sympathetic glances but even Greg could see the blatant discomfort in the man’s eyes. He’d never seen Mycroft as _the British Government_ only the incredibly attractive, brilliant older brother of his biggest pest.

“Sherlock,” he panted as he reached the top of the stairs; he hadn’t stopped moving since they’d called him to the crime scene, “there are three victims in a locked room each holding knives but they died of gunshot wounds. Will you come?”

“No.”

“Sherlock…”

“I've attempted to delete the knowledge I have of _Mycroft's_  sexual life unsuccessfully. For that I cannot be bothered with either of you,” the man was already moving to sprawl across the couch, "Give my regards to my brother."

When Greg stomped down the stairs he found Mycroft waiting outside Speedy’s. He was leaning against his umbrella and held open the door for Greg to enter the café. He pulled out the silver haired man’s chair before handing him a sealed envelope and turning to leave.

“You’re not joining me?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, Mycroft replied, “Unfortunately not. But I will see you _very_ soon.”

Once the tall gentleman was out of view, Greg opened the envelope to find the details of the crime, the clues only a Holmes could find and an intricate file on the murderer.   **Figures.**

* * *

A few months later Greg found himself in America chasing after drug smugglers that Sherlock had _somehow_ managed to piss off. He’d finally convinced Sherlock to start joining cases again when suddenly the man disappeared without a word to him or John.  Mycroft, who never took eyes off of his brother, directed the two men onto a flight and the location of the brewery they were currently sprinting through. They’d reached the retail portion of the building in time to watch the two men they were chasing point guns at Sherlock. When Greg and John tackled the men, the detective looked furious rather than grateful.

“How am I supposed to determine the location of their stash if they are no longer capable of capturing me? How did you even find me- Oh! This is Mycroft’s doing isn’t it?”

Greg brushed the dirt off his knees and grabbed a beer out of the hand of the stunned clerk. He fished a few crumbled bills out of his pocked and took a long sip before mumbling, “I don’t just do what your brother tells me.”

Sherlock gave a bark of laughter that ended abruptly as he noticed the red powder on the bottom of his attempted assailants’ shoes, “Ah there is wet baseball diamond near your refuge and since it hasn’t rained in weeks, it must be near a recently watered soccer pitch… AH!”

John rolled his eyes at Greg before running after his roommate.

* * *

That night Greg was right in the middle of the thrilling climax of his book when Mycroft entered the bedroom, “Gregory, I’d like for us to go to my mother’s for Christmas.”

“No.”

“No?”

Greg coughed uncomfortably, “I don’t meet the parents very well. My wife’s mum tried to pay me to leave her daughter.”

“Ex-wife. Don’t make me order you.”

The book fell from Greg’s fingers and he looked up sharply at his lover, “Problem with that is I _love_ when you boss me around, and it still won’t convince me to ruin our relationship by getting the disapproval of your mother.”

“Fine,” Mycroft stripped out of his suit and hung it on a hanger before crawling over his lover’s body. He pulled the book out of Greg’s hands and sat across his lap while reading the back description of the book aloud. Once he was finished and Greg’s eyes were dilated from listening to the smooth voice of the man, Mycroft threw it aside and captured the older man’s mouth in a heated kiss.

Pulling away with a final, quick lick to the DI’s lower lip, Mycroft whispered, “The couple finds out they are siblings and the woman’s new fiancé dies in a car crash with the brother leaving her pathetically alone.”

After sufficiently ruining the book, Mycroft rolled off Greg and curled under the duvet with the intention of sleeping. Greg pinned his shoulders to the bed in on swift move and shook his head, “You’ll never let me finish a book again, will you?”

“Nor a television program if you do not do this for me.”

Greg should have felt annoyed but instead he let out a sigh of laughter and kissed a freckled shoulder, “Alright, but you can’t leave me if she hates me.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft ran a finger slowly down his spine, “my mother is a woman of exquisite tastes. I can guarantee she will adore you as much as I do... though hopefully not in the same fashion.”

* * *

Mycroft had just dropped a small box onto his brother’s lap when the younger, to John’s surprise, lifted it and sighed. The British Government then sank gracefully into John’s chair and the two men had one of their eerie conversations where neither talked but the tension in the room grew thicker with each nod of the head and raised eyebrow.  Finally, when it seemed to John that Mycroft was gaining the upper hand, Sherlock plucked on his violin and queried, “How’s Lestrade.”

John was unable to notice the defeat in the elder brother’s eyes when he answered, “Fine.”

Trying to keep the conversation one that was spoken aloud, John asked, “Tell me about your relationship?”

Mycroft suddenly had the upper hand, according to his and Sherlock’s unwritten rules, and he smirked and twirled his umbrella between his fingers as he replied, “You don’t need to know about that, do you?”

* * *

Greg was curled under the tight grip of Mycroft’s arm, inhaling the musky scent of freshly debauched sheets. Having received Mrs. Holmes' blessing to propose to her eldest son, Greg had done so that night. He couldn't stop himself from caressing the gold band on the other man's finger. He grinned against warm skin as he thought back on his courtship with the man.

He remembered exchanging half smiles, flirty looks and coy glances for weeks without the man so much as dropping hints of wanting a relationship. They’d sat across from each other at Baker Street one night while John reprimanded Sherlock sternly for infecting the food for the dinner party with Ebola resulting in everyone else leaving for takeout across the road. Greg had remained behind only because he wanted time with the object of his infatuation for as long as possible.

“Would you-” Mycroft started to speak before cutting himself off abruptly.

Feeling bold because of the man’s blunder, Greg stretched his fingers out until their fingertips brushed against each other. He ran his rough middle finger over the skin of Mycroft’s manicured hand while giving the man what he’d hoped was his most endearing smile. Rather than finishing his sentence with an invite to dinner, Mycroft shot up from his seat and left the flat before John or Sherlock could return to the kitchen and see him.

The next evening the DI was beginning to lose hope that his attracting was reciprocated. He hung his head in his hands, trying to fight off a tension headache when Anthea appeared in the entrance to his office and handed him a key.

“A driver is currently outside the Scotland Yard and will escort you to the building this key belongs to. Don’t break my boss’ heart for I’d regret to have to terminate you,” she smiled sincerely which made her comment increasingly disturbing to Greg.

He shuffled a few files together on his desk while Anthea remained in his office, typing on a tablet rather than her usually present phone. When it became apparent she was not leaving until after him, he left work with a shout to Sally that he’d be unreachable. He slid into the black car and allowed himself to be whisked away.

When he arrived to the small, Victorian styled house he found a pair of pajamas and with a note hanging in the main foyer.

_Detective Inspector, you are in need of a holiday and the yard has approved a four day vacation. Please enjoy this house as an ideal for residing in the next few nights and hopefully more to follow._

_-Anthea_

Perhaps Mycroft was going to reject him tonight and his assistant was attempting to run damage control. With a frustrated sigh the man opened the door the pajamas hung on to find a lavish bedroom. He changed his clothes and crawled into the bed with a frown on his face.

The next morning Greg awoke to the sound of someone speaking loudly and aggressively.  When he followed the voice, _Mycroft’s,_ he’d recognize that voice anywhere, he found the man lounging on a bed in another room. The door was partially open so Greg could hear every word.

“While I _appreciate_ the holiday, Anthea, I sincerely doubt the office will be in an orderly state when I return-” he paused, listening to the other speaker, “My present? I’m unsure as to what you mean.”

It was then that Greg decided to make his last bold attempt at pursuing the man. He pushed open the door with the flat of his palm and watched as Mycroft’s eyes widened slightly and he excused himself from the phone call.

“I believe I would be what she meant.”

Mycroft’s Adams apple bobbed heavily as he swallowed and watched Greg undo the buttons of his shirt. He reached into the drawer beside him, Greg had a flash of fear that he was grabbing for a gun, but instead Mycroft produced a bottle of lubricant and a row of condoms.

And now, smothered against Mycroft’s furred chest, Greg couldn’t bring himself to regret his actions. It’s those things he and Mycroft do that make their relationship as perfect as it is. 

**Author's Note:**

> Based of off this video ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sruRBp0IZaw ) by DutchessCloverly. I ADORE all of her videos and Echo ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VD-reMEz510 ) makes me cry everytime so please check them out and enjoy!!


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